A Lesson in Humility
by umqra1895
Summary: The oneshot becomes a full-on story! Britain is still a large empire, and slavery still reigns...though the commonwealth has no idea. When Sebastian Moran is taken as Jim Moriarty's slave, he struggles to find a way to free himself from this system, but things start to get more complicated.
1. A Lesson in Humility

"Next up for sale, ladies and gentlemen, number 68! A gorgeous specimen: Tall, strong, with sharp reflexes and a fiery personality. Recently salvaged from military service, this one's got yards of skills to offer to our lucky buyer."

Sebastian could barely pick out the auctioneer's words, his head fuzzy from the sedatives they'd given him. He could only stand on the stage, his eyes blindfolded and his hands bound behind his back, limply trying to yank himself from the grip of whomever was holding him.

He'd been snatched directly from the airport the day before, after returning from his dishonorable discharge in Afghanistan. He'd still been in his army fatigues when the men had surprised him in the airport toilet, drugging him and abducting him. When he'd woken, it didn't take him long to discover his fate: he was to be sold at an underground slave auction.

He hadn't known even London's most covert and heinous underground scenes were able to get away with human bondage and ownership. That was something you only found in Thailand or Cambodia; this was a first world country, for fuck's sake!

Yet here he stood on the stage, and although he was blindfolded, he could feel a hundred eyes on him and hear the murmurs from the crowd. He loathed all of them. He wished he could rip off his blindfold so they could see his full hatred. Better yet, give him a machine gun and 50 rounds and let him at them.

"Six foot one, 210 pounds—all muscle, mind you!—blonde hair, blue eyes, peak health and fitness. Number 68 is a wild stallion just _begging _someone to break him." Sebastian grit his teeth and tried yanking away again, but the man at his side kept him in a firm grip. If he weren't sedated, the man would've been knocked out twenty minutes ago. "I'll start the bidding at £5000."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. Well, at least he was _worth _something. He shuddered at what kind of person—man or woman—would buy a human being. Whoever bought him, Sebastian would make sure they were dead before the day was out. He waited as the numbers rose higher and higher, two main voices raising his value back and forth. One was a woman with a shrill voice. Sebastian pictured someone in a mink stole with an obnoxious stuck-up nose, yappy dogs at her heel, and a frail, snappable neck. The other was a man, his voice brusque and deep. Bigger, then, probably. What he wanted with Sebastian, he didn't care to find out.

The woman had reached £19,000 pounds and there was a pause, the other man presumably giving in.

"No other offers for number 68? Going once, twice—"

"£25,000," a new, bored voice drawled, somewhere from the back, Sebastian thought. It was a man, with a higher voice, likely smaller. He spoke like he had all the time in the world, like he owned the world.

"Ah! Thank you, sir!" the auctioneer said. "Any other takers? Going once, twice, sold to the dark-haired gentleman in the back! Claim your slave backstage, please. Moving on…"

So Sebastian's life was worth £25,000 pounds to some strange man he'd never met. He was shoved off the stage and felt himself flung back into the holding cage he'd waited in before his number had been called.

How did they get away with slavery in a place like the UK? Surely somebody would notice. Surely it would be easy to escape so long as he killed the owner neatly and got rid of the body discretely. These were two things Sebastian could excel at.

"Right, I'll take him now," drawled that high, bored voice, and Sebastian heard the cage open. A hand dragged him out by his shirt sleeve, still holding onto him, and Sebastian felt someone right in front of him. His new owner, evidently, examining him.

"Yes, he'll do. What's your name?"

"Mine?" Sebastian asked.

"No, you incompetent moron, the slaver's name. Of _course _yours."

The man was Irish, going by the accent. Sebastian could lie, but they'd be handing off his identification papers to his new owner. He'd seen it happen to several others as he'd waited backstage.

"Sebastian Moran, former colonel of the artillery regiment. Who the fuck are you?"

His new owner laughed, and then Sebastian received a hard backhand to his face that would have sent him stumbling back if the slaver hadn't been holding onto him. Oh, yes, he was going to get on _wonderfully _with this man. Good thing this man wouldn't be alive much longer.

The man never answered his question, only sorted out paperwork with the slaver then had a couple assistants shuffle Sebastian into the backseat of a car, and they were driving.

"Can't you take my blindfold off?" Sebastian asked.

"No, and I intend to have you gagged as well once I'm done asking you some questions," the other man said. "I thought we'd do some shopping before returning home, and I don't want you upsetting the store owners."

"You'd take me bound and gagged into a store? Won't people talk?" Sebastian smirked bitterly.

"Not where we're going. Now then, peaches, it's obvious you've got extensive experience and practice with a wide range of artillery and firearms, not only from your military brigade, but the way you hold yourself in the shoulders and the pads of your fingers. You're also a smoker, I see, which will not be accepted at any time in any of my accommodations, but if you're a good boy you can go outside for a smoke break when appropriate."

"And you can go fuck off."

"Tsk, tsk, language, Sebastian. Mm, _Sebastian_. Sexy name, I have to say, but it's a bit long for every day. How do you feel about 'Sebby'?"

Sebastian's lip curled. "If you call me that, I'll have your balls shoved so far up your arse you'll be choking on them."

He was startled when he felt the other man lunge at him and grip his throat, strangling him and bruising his windpipe. Lips brushed his ear. "Ahhh, Sebby, darling, I see that you think you're going to come out on top in all of this. Perhaps that's worked in the past. Your size and skill with firearms _would _come in handy for…_orrrdinary_ people…" He drew out the word ordinary in a sultry purr. His soft, sing-song voice and his lilting accent should have been soothing, but there was a menace behind it that made Sebastian's heart quicken. He was rarely intimidated by anyone, but this man, whose gentle voice dripped malice and boredom from every syllable, set his hair on end. "But I'm not ordinary, Sebby, as you'll find soon enough. If you cross me, you will suffer. I will skin you to the bone, inch by inch, and laugh the whole way through."

Jesus. Sebastian believed every word. He swallowed, wishing he could see this man, but almost glad that he couldn't. "If you're so special, what use do you have for me, then?" Sebastian grunted.

"Oh. Many things," the man said, and Sebastian could hear a smile in his voice. He didn't like it. "My line of work requires a good gunman, a faithful bodyguard at my beck and call, and various other services a man such as you would be able to provide."

Sebastian didn't care to find out what those "various other services" were at the moment, instead asking, "What is your line of work?"

The car stopped. "Ah, we're here. Open wide, Sebby."

"What—" Sebastian started, but was cut off as a ball gag was shoved into his mouth, forcing his jaw open. He grunted and groaned as the gag was buckled tightly behind his head, then he was dragged from the car and escorted outside. He felt humiliated. He had no idea where he was; for all he knew he could be in a London street, surrounded by gawping bystanders. It was infuriating. He twisted his wrists in his bonds behind his back, but they held.

"I can see your sedatives are wearing off," his owner said from behind as Sebastian was pushed inside of a building. "That's good; I want you alert. Just remember, Sebastian, you have none of the advantage here. You are surrounded, unarmed, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Attempting an escape would be pointless and very, very dull. Good afternoon," he said to somebody else.

"Oh, hello, sir! Brought your slave out for a visit?" Another man's voice came from in front, growing closer. Sebastian squirmed and blinked into his blindfold, humiliated.

"Just off the auction block. I wanted to do some shopping for him, make sure everything fits. Thought I'd give a few things some test runs."

"Excellent. We do demonstrations, if you'd like," the store clerk said. At least, Sebastian assumed he was a store clerk. What did he mean, demonstrations? Demonstrations of _what_? He felt his heart pound in his throat, feeling like a trapped, muzzled animal who could be vivisected at any moment.

"We'll need collars for him. I wanted ones that look good. I'll not have some sort of unseemly thing on his neck," his owner drawled.

A _collar_? Like a dog? Sebastian grunted into his gag in protest, but this only made his owner laugh, and Sebastian twitched away as he felt a hand caress down his arm.

"He makes quite the cutting figure," the store clerk said. "Are those fatigues a costume, or are they genuine?"

"The real deal," his owner asked, hooking a finger into Sebastian's dog tags and yanking on them, pulling Sebastian's neck forward slightly. "Isn't it _fun_?"

"New toys are always fun. Big bloke, too. He looks like he'll put up a fight," the store clerk observed.

Fucking right, Sebastian though, enraged.

"I assume you'll be wanting restraints as well?"

"For a start, yes."

Sebastian was herded around the store and listened in increasing apprehension and horror as his owner seemingly bought the store out of bondage equipment: spreader bars, harnesses, varieties of handcuffs (metal, leather, and furry), ropes, cords, chains, shackles, and tapes.

"Blimey! Is this your first slave, then?" the store clerk asked.

"The first one I plan on fucking, yes," his owner said lightly.

Sebastian's stomach dropped. He'd figured he was in for rape as soon as he'd been sold off, but hearing the words directly made him shake. He couldn't imagine a worse thing, and even though this man that now held papers declaring ownership seemed small, he had no doubt that the man could find a thousand ways to hurt him if he so chose.

"I'd like a toy demonstration, please," his owner said.

"Right. There's two ways we can do it. You can pick the ones you want to try and we have some private rooms in the back that you can use, or I can give you a demonstration myself."

"You'll give the demonstration, I think," his owner said. "My new pet needs a lesson in humility, and I'd prefer to watch on the first go-around."

"Very good. This way, sir," the clerk said, and Sebastian felt himself shoved to some other part of the store. What kind of fucking place _was_ this? The store clerk was going to demonstrate sex toys? On _him_? He felt sick to his stomach, and he yelled out muffled protests as he was dragged to a kneeling position.

A hand went to the back of Sebastian's blindfold. "Leave it," his owner said. "Leave him as is. Except, of course, for what you must rearrange. Ah, isn't that fascinating?"

"Yes, this platform does wonders. Convenient for strapping down your slaves in whatever position you want them. Let's strip him first, however."

No. No, this was not happening, Sebastian thought as he felt unfamiliar hands making quick work of pulling his t-shirt off his head so that it hung down around his bound hands.

"A _tiger _tattoo," his owner said with interest, and Sebastian flinched as he felt a hand stroke it, following the large tattoo from the head growing over his shoulder to the tail curling to an end just above his kidney. "Is that what you are, Sebby? A tiger? I bid well…"

Sebastian struggled and moaned and fought as his trousers, shoes, socks, and pants were removed, mortified that he was standing naked in front of two strange men—possibly more, for all he knew—and that he was completely helpless.

He continued yelling and begging into the gag as he was forced onto the platform, his head shoved down and his neck strapped to the platform so that he couldn't raise himself. His hands were left tied behind his back, but his biceps were bound and strapped to either side of the platform, as were his ankles, forcing him into a bent over position on his knees, legs spread apart, vulnerable. He couldn't move in the least. Sebastian couldn't remember the last time he cried, but he wanted to now. He had never been so enraged, mortified, or afraid.

"I want him to come before we leave this store," his owner demanded.

"Of course, sir. The demonstration wouldn't be complete until he does. I always want to ensure clients are finding the right things for their needs."

Sebastian let out another muffled protest, flexing and straining his muscles against his bonds, but he could barely move a half inch to either side.

There was the sound of something like a rubber glove being put on, and something being slicked on it. Sebastian flinched in alarm as he felt someone—the store clerk?—kneeling behind him and taking his limp cock in his lubricated, gloved hand, beginning to stroke and caress it.

If Sebastian had had his way, he would have stayed limp and unmoved by the man's ministrations, but his body had other plans. He could feel his blood rushing to his groin, and his breath quickened as he came to full hardness.

"You're in luck, sir, he's quite large," the clerk said.

"So I noticed." There was a hungry edge to his owner's voice, which seemed to be coming from somewhere above him. Sebastian didn't know what was worse; that he was being jerked off by some unseen store clerk who performed the task as if it was a medical procedure (although he certainly knew all the pleasure points), or that his owner, the man he would be answering to until he could find an escape, was standing over him, watching him.

He let out a small moan as the man's hand stroked his balls and brushed his knuckles against his prenium. He pushed his hips into the man's hand almost involuntarily. "That's right, just relax, darling," the man said softly, then his hand was on Sebstian's cock again, stroking it faster.

Mmm…yes, that was good. Sebastian breathed harder, biting onto his gag.

"I said I wanted a toy demonstration, not to watch you give my slave a handjob," his owner said, a note of malice in his voice.

"A bit of foreplay is all, sir," the man said, then as he stroked, Sebastian felt the man's other hand, also gloved and lubricated, beginning to massage and stroke at his arsehole. "I think he's ready."

The hand slid down the length of Sebastian's cock once more, and Sebastian realized he was unrolling a condom onto it. Then the hand withdrew, leaving Sebastian's cock aching and needing more. If this man thought he was going to get off from having something shoved up his arse, he was dead wrong. He didn't think he could have an orgasm with the best possible blowjob, knowing that some sadistic creep was letching above him.

Sebastian let out a surprised cry as he felt something hard being pushed inside of him. It was well lubricated and inserted carefully, but it stretched him painfully, and he twitched and groaned as he got used to the feeling.

"The key is to wait a bit, let him get used to it, first. Build up some anticipation," the clerk was saying. "You ever used one of these before?"

"I never bothered with toys, or fucking in general much," his owner said. "Never did like to get my hands dirty."

"Then this might be the wrong pastime for you," the clerk chortled, twisting the toy—dildo, perhaps? A small one, at least, from the feel of it—so that Sebastian felt a whole new sensation, almost a pleasurable one.

"I think I'm going to make an exception for this one," his owner said.

"A fine choice for an exception."

"Stop flattering me and do your job," his owner snapped.

"Right. Of course sir." The clerk seemed cowed, then pulled the device out slowly, almost all the way, then pushed it in again, angling it up. "What you'll want to do is find the prostate, and usually if you hit at a few different angles—" he slid it in and out just barely, each time nudging it against a different spot, until he brushed up against Sebastian's prostate and Sebastian felt a shocking wave of pleasure hit him, and he couldn't stop himself from giving a pleasured moan into his gag. He hated that he was loving this, that he wanted more.

"—And there it is," the clerk said.

"Go on, then, turn it on," his owner said impatiently.

Sebastian didn't have to wait long figure out what he meant by "on": The device began vibrating against Sebastian prostate, sending a larger wave of pleasure through him. He whimpered and groaned, pushing his hips back, wanting more.

"If you just left this against his prostate, he might come from that alone, if there were a few other stimuli. This device, however, has three different settings. This is the lowest one."

He pulled it out just slightly so that it was halfway in, halfway out, pleasuring Sebastian but not in deep enough, infuriating him. Sebastian moaned and twitched and bucked his hips back.

"Leave it in for a while," his owner said. "I want to have a look at some of your other dildos. And say, do you have cock rings?"

Sebastian cried out into the gag as he felt the clerk move away from him. They were going to _leave _him hear? He moaned and struggled, then was horrified to hear other voices, different voices than his owner's and the store clerks. There were other shoppers in this store, an influx of them just coming in, and while he listened to their conversations amidst his tortured arousal, he heard their footsteps as they wandered the aisles and then finally approach him.

"Look, darling, a demonstration. Isn't he gorgeous?" A woman's voice said.

"Yes, master."

_Master_? A slave, then. Was he going to have to call his new owner "master" as well?

"Excuse me, do you always have a model for demonstration?" The woman called out.

"That's not a model, madam, that's a slave. I'm in the middle of a demonstration for a customer. What's in his arse right now, on the lowest setting, is this model here, one of our most popular ones."

Sebastian wanted to melt of shame and fade away from all of this. His cock was aching and he could hardly bear it anymore, and people were watching him as if he was a piece of furniture in the store, a model for a product. He had never felt so dehumanized.

As he gave out another anguished cry into the gag, he felt someone kneel beside him and a hand in his hair. "Do you see what you are now, darling?" His new owner whispered into his ear. Sebastian panted and whimpered. "You're an object. You're property. You're _my _property. But there's a good part, sweetheart."

Sebastian heard the man rise and stride over behind him, then kneel. He pulled the vibrator out then thrust it in again, making Sebastian buck his hips back and cry out wantonly.

"You'll want it. You'll grow to love it all. I will fashion you such a life as you never could have created for yourself."

Sebastian gasped out in a higher voice than he would have admitted he was capable of as his owner switched the device to its higher setting, beginning to move it inside of him, hitting up against his prostate. Fireworks exploded in front of his eyes and he moaned out loudly, no longer caring who heard or what they thought.

"You are a beautiful creature, Sebastian. I look forward to breaking you. This is just the beginning."

Sebastian huffed air out of his nose, his heart racing and his body surging with pleasure. He felt overwhelmed with pleasure, and just as he neared the end, the vibrator was pulled out completely and he was left hollow and devoid of any friction, any touch. He yelled out and grunted. Fuck, he needed to finish. He could hear the device still vibrating in his owner's hand behind him.

"That's right, Sebastian, my tiger…my kitten," his owner said, tacking on the other nickname in amusement, letting his hand stroke up Sebastian's tensed and sweating back. "Beg for it."

Sebastian moaned and pleaded into the gag, craning his head back as far as the strap holding his neck down would allow.

The vibrator was shoved in at long last, pushed as far as it would go. His toes curled and his nails dug into his palms, and as his owner began pushing the device in and out, Sebastian let out a series of sharp, high moans like a dog in heat. It was humiliating, but he couldn't stop himself. He could barely think at all, his entire brain overwhelmed by the astronomical pleasure that was building, building, building.

The vibrator was flicked to its highest setting and Sebastian came hard into the condom, bursting with pleasure. After his final, strangled groan, he fell limp onto the platform, breathing hard.

"_Very_ beautiful singing you did there, pet," his owner said, pleased, withdrawing the vibrator from Sebastian. "We'll take it!"

"Excellent, sir. I'll ring you up, if there's nothing else," the clerk said.

The owner set to unstrapping Sebastian, then had him stand up, even though Sebastian's legs felt like jelly in the hazy afterglow of what had been one of his most intense orgasms ever. His owner yanked back on his pants and trousers, pulled his t-shirt back over his head.

"This is the last time you'll ever find me doing _this _for you," his owner muttered as he grudgingly tied Sebastian's shoes. "From here on out, _you'll _be the one doing the help with the dressing, if I ever require such a thing."

Sebastian's jaw ached from the gag, but his owner didn't remove it until they were bundled back in the car. He flexed his sore jaw.

"Bet you weren't expecting _that _today," his owner said, amusement in his voice.

"No," Sebastian spat. "Don't let the orgasm fool you. That's just science. I still despise you."

"Oh, I don't believe you will ever stop despising me, darling. But what kind of relationship is all sugar and no spice?"

"Who are you?" Sebastian asked.

A hand reached up and unloosed his blindfold, letting it fall away. Sebastian blinked and focused his eyes on a short, unimposing looking man seated in front of him, impeccably dressed, with closely-clipped brown hair and remarkably wide dark eyes that were focused on Sebastian's.

"Your eyes are grey, not blue. The auctioneer lied," was all the man said at first. "Ah, well. I prefer grey." He leaned down to look at his suit, brushing lint from the lapel, then looked back up at Sebastian, who was staring at him in horror, fascination, disgust, and awe. "I'm Jim Moriarty. Consulting criminal." He grinned, and that grin confirmed to Sebastian that he was in fact in the hands of a madman. "Welcome to the party."

* * *

**Well, this was a standalone, but I could see it going somewhere. What do you think? Could it be continued or is it better as a standalone? Let me know.**


	2. Not An Animal

Sebastian's legs felt wobbly long after he fell into the seat of the car, but that didn't stop him from glaring boldly at Jim the entire ride home. The car was posh, incredibly so, but Sebastian wasn't all that surprised. The man had just spent £25,000 on a human being and another small fortune on…sex toys.

A lump came to Sebastian's throat as he eyed the heaps of shopping bags between him and Jim Moriarty.

"You're awfully quiet," Jim noted, not looking at his glare, but instead out the window. "I imagine it's been a while since you've been in London, am I right? Such a different place than Afghanistan…or India."

He was about to retort when he realized that he'd never told Jim his name. "How did you—"

Jim rolled his eyes and finally bothered to roll his head toward Sebastian. "Oh, please, honey. As if your dog tags weren't a plain giveaway." He leaned toward Sebastian and pulled the chain from underneath Sebastian's shirt.

Fuck, if Sebastian's hands weren't bound behind him he would've punched the man. Those were _his! _His one true possession, and now this soulless, dark-haired freak was rubbing his fingers all over them.

"See here?"

"It just says my name and rank," Sebastian growled. "Stop fucking touching that!" He yanked back, trying to pull the tag from Jim's grasp, but Jim only tsked and grabbed Sebastian's jaw in his hand, squeezing it painfully.

"Unless you don't fancy your teeth, sweetheart, keep talking. Or you can shut up, guard those pearly whites—" He forced Sebastian's mouth open and ran his thumb along Sebastian's teeth. Sebastian grunted and tried to yank free. "—And you might even learn something."

The man's smug little smile was infuriating, but Sebastian clenched his jaw shut. "The make of this dog tag shows it was made in the British Empire, which Afghanistan isn't a part of, but you can tell by the dated typeface that it wasn't made in England. That means you likely did your training and a few years of service in India…correct?"

"Ten years in India," Sebastian said tersely. He didn't know why, but it bothered him that this man knew about India. His time in India was _his_. The last thing he wanted was this asshole butting into his past.

"Ten years?" Jim let out a low whistle, his thin eyebrows rising. Despite his rage, Sebastian stared at him in fascination. The man had one of the most expressive faces he'd ever seen. It made a jarring contrast with that slithery, bored voice. "My, _my, _Sebby, just how long have you been in the military for? No, no, shhh, don't answer that. Let Daddy guess." He pressed a couple fingers over Sebastian's lips as he let his dark eyes bore into him.

_Daddy? _Oh, fuck.

Jim sighed finally. "Mm. Dull. Left at 18, couldn't wait to join…lifelong dream, right? Hated school, had a knack for athletics…going by your build I'd say…you played football in school? No…rugby." His mouth twisted into a smile. "You don't get scars like _that _from football." His pale fingers moved to trace a scar across Sebastian's nose, making him flinch.

"How the fuck do you know that's not from the _army_?" Sebastian spat, furious that Jim was astonishingly and impossibly right. He had gotten the scar from rugby, when he was 15. He was still bitter that Jacob Lewis had gotten away with that foul.

"Too old. You've had it for ages. Your face grew up with it," Jim said. "So, if you went to India for ten years—hm. I'm guessing 15 years of service total at least, correct?"

"17," Sebastian amended, then felt immediately ashamed that he had voluntarily supplied Jim with any information about his past. "What the hell does it matter how long I served for?" He expected a reprimand, but Jim just smiled, then cheekily began to whistle "Getting To Know You" from the The King and I.

Sebastian leaned back in his seat, heaving a sigh. This had to be some kind of sick nightmare.

Jim's home was as posh as his car. Sebastian stepped into the chandeliered foyer, his hands still bound behind his back. "There must be some good money in being a consulting criminal, huh, Jim Moriarty?" he said, and immediately received a hard smack to his face as an answer.

Jim turned on his heel in front of him, looking up at him disdainfully. "From here on out you will address me as 'master.' Your life is mine, Seb. Disobey me and there will be consequences."

Sebastian stared down at him, his gray eyes hard and cold. His nails dug into his palms behind his back. He refused to reiterate his phrase with the correct term, so Jim led him through the foyer into a large living room, the most noticeable feature being an enormous fireplace big enough for a child to stand in. Nearby was a polished grand piano with Italian leather furniture arranged in front of it.

"Kitchen's through there. I won't be making you cook anything, unless it's for yourself, since I prefer to prepare my food myself. Molly generally does the clean-up, so I doubt you'll need the kitchen much."

"Who's Molly?"

Jim shot Sebastian a warning look, and so Sebastian tacked on, furious, "_Master._"

"Another slave of mine," Jim drawled. "She's likely in the mortuary right now. The little thing's got a surprising talent for handling corpses. Then again, from her past history, it's hardly surprising."

"Sorry, the mortuary? Your slave has a job?" Sebastian frowned. He couldn't see why Moriarty would want one of his slaves to work at a morgue.

"_My _mortuary. In the cellar." Jim smiled tightly. "I'm sure you'll see it soon, Sebby."

Sebastian cringed again at the nickname. "Why in fuck's name do you have a mortuary in your cellar?"

"Language, Sebastian," Jim smirked, circling him. He casually plucked a few of Sebastian's arm hairs, making him twitch. "I find corpses endlessly fascinating. Empty shells, great mysteries in and of themselves. You can learn a lot about life and death just by looking at them. When I'm bored I always like a new specimen to dissect. Molly keeps the bodies and the parts in stock and looks after them for little old me."

"Why bother with me, then, when you already have a slave who can provide you with all your creepy corpse needs…master?"

Jim strode over to the piano and caressed his fingertips over the keys before walking back toward Sebastian. "You're just _leaping _into the questions, aren't you?" He grinned, then frowned, wrinkling his nose. "Speaking of corpses, you smell like one. When was the last time you bathed?"

"In Afghanistan, three days ago," Sebastian said. He hadn't realized it until he said it. He couldn't decide which had more appeal, the thought of a long hot shower, or the fact that his current smell was annoying Jim.

"What a dirty boy," Jim smirked, grabbing Sebastian's shirt sleeve and leading him up a wide staircase and down a hall to a bathroom bigger than Sebastian's old flat's living room. As Jim circled around Sebastian to uncuff him, he murmured, "Don't forget to be a good tiger. Know that if you try anything when I set you loose, I will have you drugged, restrained and isolated for _weeks. _Your muscles might atrophy and you might go insane, but such is the price of insolence. He leaned closer to whisper in Sebastian's ear, "And I'm much quicker than you think."

Sebastian really hated this man. When his wrists were free he resisted the urge to put the smaller man in a choke hold—his Adam's apple was prominent, as if inviting Sebastian to strangle him. Instead, he rubbed the raw, numb skin and stared at Jim stonily. "Are you planning on watching me shower, master?"

Jim's eyes danced. Well, thank God he was _amusing _him. Sebastian grit his teeth and Jim finally shrugged and said, "Nah. Not much point. I already saw what you look like." He winked cheekily at Sebastian and slapped his arse. "And what your face looks like when you climax. Actually, that was a bit obstructed by the gag and the blindfold. Hm…" Jim trailed off, thinking, and Sebastian felt his face growing hot. The last thing he needed was a reminder the mortifying yet undeniably intense encounter at the sex shop.

"Scrub yourself down, and be thorough. Behind the ears, between the toes, all of it. When you're done, report back downstairs and we'll go over my expectations. Is that clear?"

Sebastian nodded stiffly. "Yes…master," he said.

"Good boy. You learn quickly." Jim stepped back and out the door. "Oh, and put your clothes outside the door before you hop in. Ta."

It would only a matter of time before Sebastian punched Jim in the face. And it would be so, so satisfying, no matter what the consequences ended up being. He smiled, imagining the smaller man clutching a bloody nose as he peeled out of his filthy military fatigues, casting them on a heap outside the door.

The bathtub was enormous and ornate, and the water heated up in an instant, a far cry from the unreliable water heating at his old post in Kabul. He stepped under the hot spray and closed his eyes, enjoying the luxury of it as best as he could. He finally snapped to and scrubbed his body with military precision, trying to rid himself of the last remnants of Afghan dust as well as any trace from the sex shop.

Once he'd stepped out, thoroughly warmed and scrubbed, he toweled off, then popped his hand out the door to grab his pile of clothes. They were gone. What the hell? Filthy they might be, but they were _his_. Sebastian opened the door wider, looking for a replacement set of clothes. The hall was empty.

Furious, he wrapped his towel around his waist and headed downstairs. He could hear soft notes from the piano. At first he thought it was a recording, but when he entered, he saw Jim at the piano, playing with ease. A large fire was roaring in the hearth.

"Where the fuck are my clothes?"

Jim didn't look up from the keys, swaying slightly with the music. "Tyger! Tyger! burning bright, in the forests of the night…" he muttered over the music.

"Yeah, it's really funny and all that, but what do you expect me to wear?" Sebastian said, hating how invisible he felt.

"What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?" Jim finally looked over at Sebastian. He ended his song abruptly and stood up, looking Sebastian over. He cocked his head and then pointed to the fireplace. "Your clothes are in there, where they belong. Why do you need clothes, Sebastian Moran?"

Sebastian looked down at him, furious. "Because they're _clothes! _I'm not a fucking nudist."

"Well, you're not going anywhere. And you've nothing to hide from me…" Jim's hand trailed down Sebastian's muscled stomach to grab at the corner of his towel. He slowly unwrapped it from Sebastian's waist, holding the edges as he admired the sight of Sebastian's nakedness, then let the towel drop to the floor. Sebastian stood stiffly, staring ahead, as if he were in the drill line. His back was warm from the fire, but his front was chilled and goosepimpled from being naked and fresh from the shower.

Jim let his fingers brush over Sebastian's skin as he circled behind him. Sebastian felt him trace over his tiger tattoo. "Where did you get this?" Jim asked, tracing the curve of the tiger tail that curled down the side of Sebastian's back.

"India," Sebastian said tersely. He couldn't bear this tension. If Jim wanted to fuck him, he'd rather have it over with. He hated how impossible it was to read Jim, how everything he did put him on edge in fear of what would happen next.

"Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?" Jim quoted.

"Very clever, that, William Blake," Sebastian growled.

"Sebby, I'm shocked! You know 'Tyger Tyger'?"

"Yes, and you were playing Chopin on the piano. I'm not an animal." Even if he was being treated like one.

"Cultured, gorgeous, _and _talented…allegedly. That's what I was promised when I bought you, anyway. Military skill sets. Any other skill sets that might come in handy?" Jim asked lowly, and Sebastian could feel Jim's breath, hot against his skin. His spine tingled as Jim stroked his fingers down it, then he flinched as Jim's fingers brushed against his bum crack, slipping between his cheeks. He jolted away, whirling around and automatically hitting Jim in the stomach.

Jim doubled over, catching his breath, then looked up in shock. Sebastian was trying to plan a next move—he couldn't very well run out into the street stark naked without drawing some attention—but he didn't have time to think about it when Jim kept himself lowered and rammed himself into Sebastian, knocking him to the floor. Jim immediately grabbed a fire poker from the stand by the fireplace, holding either end and pinning Sebastian's throat with it. "Bad move, sweetheart. Looks like I have some taming to do, Tiger."

Sebastian yanked his hands up, trying to pry the bar off his windpipe, but Jim was pressing down so hard that he could hardly breathe. He twitched underneath Jim, seeing spots before his eyes. The last thing he saw was Jim's grinning face swimming above him, and a sickening, fading croon of, "Good boooyyy…"


End file.
